


the marvelous café adventures of dr. cummings

by cloudburst



Series: the marvelous misadventures of paul cummings [1]
Category: The Night Shift (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Paul Cummings is bisexual 2k17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: Paul kind of, may or may not have, met the love of his life by whacking him in the face with a door. And spilling coffee on him: the usual Doctor Cummings charm.





	the marvelous café adventures of dr. cummings

**Author's Note:**

> the fic nobody but me wanted. this is rlly dumb and i don't care; if anyone that isn't me ever reads this and is curious, my face claim for paul's boyf is brandon logie

The first time Paul had met him, it was pure coincidence; it always is coincidence, apologizing to a stranger you've never met after accidentally hitting them with a café door. It's a little cliché, but it's definitely coincidence. At least Paul thinks it is—most certainly doesn't think that Gabe had waited for him, then snuck in behind him at the perfect moment, simply so Paul could whack him in the face with the door. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" 

Paul had freaked, offering to buy the stranger's coffee—whatever he wanted. The other boy, or man, decided to take him up on the offer while simultaneously insisting that Paul had nothing to apologize for. It was textbook, really—the situation could've fallen out of a really bad fanfiction. (Not that Paul knew what that was, _hah_.)

But while this other guy spoke, Paul could admit to himself that: _yeah, okay, this dude is attractive. Not like I'm gay or anything._ And then to his own horror, he could hear Drew's voice in his head, again: _bisexuality exists, Paul._ So maybe, yes, he'd spoken to Drew about how Drew had known he himself was gay—when had he realized?

( _"How do you know that you're straight, Paul?"_

_"Well, Drew, I don't."_

_"Oh."_

_"Yeah."_ )

The conversation had gone about as well as he'd hoped. Drew had only gotten short once, and that was because Paul started rambling about something Scott had told him, prior to actually asking Drew for his sage advice. Or whatever it was he'd asked Drew for, neither of them were really sure. But it had helped. 

So Paul bought the guy a coffee—a large black coffee with sugar, to be exact. Colombian roast. The worst part, to Paul, was that he drank it black. _Gross._ The barista handed them their drinks, the guy took a slow sip, thanked Paul for his kindness (even though he'd nailed him with the door), and exited through said door without another word. But he'd had a smile on his face the whole time. Though, Paul wouldn't make the mistake of taking that smile as interest. He'd done that too many times already. 

Paul thought it was an interesting way to begin his day, before he went home and slept—thought he'd never see the guy again. _Boy,_ was he wrong. 

But then there he was, _again_. 

You know, Paul had been a regular at that coffee shop since beginning his residency at San Antonio Memorial, and he had never, never-ever, never in a million years seen this guy. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so he may or may not have _accidentallyonpurpose_ bumped into Unknown Name Guy as he ventured by Paul. Unfortunately, those measures are also accompanied by consequences—at least 7.35 out of ten times they are. Hence Unknown Name Guy's coffee spilled over the both of them. 

There was a whisper. _"Merde."_

That was definitely another language, that word probably-most-definitely meant shit, and wow, that coffee was really hot. Cue Paul wincing—probably yelping a little bit, but don't tell anyone. 

" _Oh mon dieu_ , I mean, oh I am sorry!" 

"Look, it's fine I—"

"I am just running a little late and—"

"It's really fine. I'm fine—"

"No, this is my fault really and last time we met you were so kind. So I—"

Paul placed a hand on Unknown Name's shoulder, hopefully urging him to calm down with telepathic mind powers. Paul had a gift. It worked. 

Unknown Name stopped rambling once he realized that Paul didn't seem to care an awful lot about the dark brown stains seeping into the white t-shirt he'd put on after his shift. 

Paul extended a hand. "I'm Paul."

A laugh—rich in tone, light in sound. Unknown Name took it for the quick handshake Paul offered. "Gabriel, but everyone calls me Gabe, so." Unknown Name— _Gabe_ —shrugged. 

They were idiotically standing in the middle of the coffee shop. It didn't really matter to either of them, so much. 

"Well, Gabe," Paul paused, shifting on his heels. "I think we have got to stop meeting like this, I mean really. What type of civilized people spill coffee on each other, or knock each other around with doors, or—"

Gabriel interjected. "I see what you mean." And either he hadn't realized Paul had bumped into him on purpose—because Paul was _desperate,_ no matter what he says—or Gabe had chosen to ignore that fact. Either way, Paul was thankful to be saved the embarrassment. He could practically hear Drew's voice in his head. 

( _"You saw a hot guy so you made him spill coffee on himself? And on you? I knew you were desperate, Paul, but damn."_

_"I'm not desperate."_

_A hum. "Sure."_

_"I'm not! And I didn't mean for him to spill it."_ )

Gabe continued his thoughts, offering Paul another smile from his arsenal—this one a wider grin—his faint accent pouring out with his next words. "I'm already running late, so not today, but maybe tomorrow morning we could sit down. Maybe see if we can settle our apparent differences like civilized people?" 

Paul felt his own smile begin to creep across his lips. "You make a compelling point. I think that can be arranged." 

"Here, tomorrow morning? 8:00?"

"Deal."

* * *

So that was how Paul scored his first date with the annoying (endearing) French boy who lay tucked between his arm and left side—head on Paul's shoulder, brown hair fanning across his collarbone. 

It was about 3:30 in the afternoon; Paul would need to get up soon—disentangle their limbs, leave Gabriel for the night, go to the hospital where he told no one of his happiness, and he just _really, really_ didn't want to. So he stayed, for a little bit longer, craning his neck to drop a feather light kiss to the top of Gabe's head. 

It's not that he thought anyone at the hospital would judge him. He knew that wasn't the case. 

Paul was still accepting himself—learning who he was. And more than anything, he wanted to come to terms with his new take on sexuality, and his new, hopefully permanent place by Gabriel's side before rushing into the announcement of their relationship to his friends. And then eventually family. 

When he promised Gabe that he would get to meet everyone soon, when he promised in between the midday kisses lost to the sound of rustling sheets, he meant it. 

Paul Cummings may be many things—awkward, maybe a little cute—but a liar was not one of them. 

An exhale. "I love you."

"Shush, Paul, I'm sleeping. But I love you too."


End file.
